


Garrett Hawke Drabbles

by RittaPokie



Series: Tales From the Dragon Age [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-30
Updated: 2018-03-17
Packaged: 2019-03-11 09:16:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RittaPokie/pseuds/RittaPokie
Summary: Fuckin carver defense 2k18 - I don’t know about in other universes but in Garrett’s I’ll fight anyone for carver





	1. Fear

Garrett sits with the book he stole open. He knows he should not have taken it, he knows he might just be making things worse, but he has to do something. He could tell his parents, but then they would have to move and Carver always does poorly when they move. He could kill the Templar, but he knows him. They were never really _friends_ , but he knows him. They have spoken a few times, played games with mutual friends when they were younger. He can't just... _kill him_.

But he can't ignore the situation. The Templar in question, just a year older than Garrett, just out of his training, he saw Bethany and Garrett practicing in the forest. It is Garrett's fault, being the older. He should have taken them further out, but Garrett was lazy about it. He told her they were far enough. They weren't; they were obviously not far enough away from Lothering that eager young Templars would not wander and find them.

The Templar is clearly having the same issue Garrett is, he thinks, because the Chantry hasn't kicked in their door and it has been almost a week. It won't last, though, Garrett knows. Duty is duty. The Templar has a duty to the Maker, Garrett has a duty to his family.

He flips the pages. It seems simple enough. Spill some blood, call a name. Still, it is sending chills down his spine. That is good, he supposes. It will make it easier to find what he needs. Fear, with its ability to take memories for its own use. A twisted thing that should never ever be done.

Garrett thinks that as he draws a knife across his hand. There is energy in it, a buzzing he can feel in the small pool on the floor and up his wrist into his shoulders to his spine. Like the rushing that you get when you almost die but don't, but all over and unending. It is a power, an immortal feeling, and he does not care for it. Not at all. He regrets this already, but he pushes on.

He can't seem to frame words with his lips, but he feels cold in his fingertips, so maybe the Fade hears him anyway. Demons want to escape so badly that they push against the veil anyway, it is not far fetched to assume they love being summoned. "Mortal." He hears, a hissing sound. He closed his eyes without realizing but they snap open when he realizes the cold energy isn't coming from him.

He opens his mouth to speak but his mouth is suddenly completely dry and he can't. He knows his eyes are wide. He didn't think it would work. He didn't want it to. He had really, _really_ hoped it wouldn't, so that he could know he tried and tell his parents about the Templar, free from responsibility.

"For what purpose have you summoned me?" It asks. Its face is ever-moving, a passage of things he fears.

"I need a specific ability, for a one time use." He says in a rush. "I have no intention of offering you time in my realm."

"You bore me."

"I need to erase a week of time from someone's memory." He says. "In exchange... In exchange, I offer you five years of control in my dreams."

It shifts, multiple eyes roll to focus directly onto his. "Why would I want this?"

He does not mention that it clearly does. "You feed on fear. You can obtain it more easily in the Fade. I'm offering it to you, for a very low cost. Erasing a week is meaningless to you."

"I accept your offer, mortal." It says, and a clawed hand clasps his left, the one he slit. He bites his lips to keep from screaming at the searing pain in his palm. A cold more intense than he thought possible sends twinges of pain up his arm, leaving a burn on his hand. "Do not heal this. Touch it to the head of the one you wish to take from, and your will shall be done." It says.

"It will scar." He says, his voice strained.

"Bear it with pride or shame, it does not matter to me." It says. "I will see you when you sleep, mortal." It slips into non-existence, leaving Garrett out of breath with guilt and terror.

"What have I done..." He whispers. He stares at the mark on his hand. As much as it hurt initially, it is relatively numb now. He quickly cleans up the blood and wraps his hand, careful to cover every bit of it. The demon did not say it wouldn't work on others, and he suspects that it definitely will.

\---

"I am glad you agreed to see me." Garrett says, following the young Templar into the fields outside Lothering.

"Well, I wanted to talk..." The Templar says. "It's-well...I think you know."

"I do."

"Tell me that it was a trick of my eyes, tell me it wasn't what I think. Please. Bethany is such a sweet kid, I-I don't want to see her taken away."

"...Neither do I." Garrett swallows hard and carefully unwraps his hand. "I want you to know-"

"What's that?" The Templar's voice is hushed. "Garrett, what is that?" His hand is on the hilt of his sword at once, but Garrett catches him first with a glyph of paralysis. It will not last long, he knows, but long enough.

"I want you to know." He repeats. "That I am _sorry_. I wouldn't do this-if it was me, if it wasn't Bethany. I'd let you do what you're supposed to."

"Please don't kill me. Maker, p-please." He begs, voice cracking in fear.

"I'm sorry." He pulls the helmet free and presses the scar against the Templar's forehead. The boy's eyes roll back and he makes a choked noise before going limp. Garrett leaves him unconscious-but very much still breathing-in the fields, and returns home.

He does not have the luxury of forgetting it ever happened. Fear comes to him that night, and the next, and the next, _and the next_.


	2. Let's Not Repeat History

He wakes up to chill in his skin. Not that it's terribly unusual for his magic to get the best of him in his sleep, especially when fear is involved. While he was asleep, he thought of the animosity between his mother and Gamlen, and...then of his own rivalry with Carver.

It is far too similar for comfort. Garrett knows that he is the favored child, he always has been. Their parents spoiled Bethany more, but Garrett was always expected to be great. Carver inevitably got left behind. He would prefer history not repeat itself, not here. He would go to the ends of the world, would and _has_ spilled blood for his little brother.

He sits up and scoots over to Carver's mat and shakes him awake. The younger's face scrunches before he blinks awake. "What?" He hisses, clearly annoyed.

"Promise me that we won't end up like mother and Gamlen." Garrett says.

Carver scowls. "Just what do we have for me to gamble away?"

" _No._ " Garrett sighs. "I mean– I don't know how to say this without it sounding bad."

"You woke me up for this."

"I just want you to know that I love you and I'm proud of you." Garrett says.

"You _woke me up_ for _this_." Carver repeats, then size heavily. "Go back to sleep."

Garrett relents and settles back down on his own sleeping mat. "Night, Carver."

"I love you too, idiot." Carver mumbles just loud enough for the older to hear. Garrett sleeps soundly for once.


	3. They’re Too Alike tbh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fuckin carver defense 2k18 - I don’t know about in other universes but in Garrett’s I’ll fight anyone for carver

Garrett told him not to follow, but of course he didn’t listen. When does he ever listen? He spots Athenril loitering outside in the shadows as usual, and he decides he will talk to her when he’s done in the Rose. He isn’t sure what exactly he plans to accomplish here. Garrett’s mind can’t be unmade once he’s made a decision. He can’t be put off doing anything in his power for his family. Carver knew he’d been working himself to exhaustion for Athenril, but he never thought he was sneaking out after dark to work more. He hoped Garrett had found a friend or a lover, but he should’ve known better. Garrett doesn’t have a selfish bone in his body.

His plans are derailed entirely when he spots Gamlen inside. “Oh, you had better be here to work.” He says before he can really stop to think about what he’s saying. He can feel his insides starting to boil, and he’s glad he is the only one without magic. Maybe the maker knew what kind of temper he’d have and decided it was a bad idea. The audacity of their uncle, to steal Garrett’s coin in the first place. Then, when he finds out where it was earned, he goes there to finish spending it. Garrett had told Gamlen in frustration, before he left to return here, to “get out and earn it on his knees like I did”.

His brother must’ve passed Gamlen on his way in too. How didn’t he kill him? Gamlen, not knowing how to quit when he’s out, starts babbling in defense of himself. “I- I was just taking a moment’s break. Not earning here, but I’d gotten a bit, and-“

“I don’t want to bloody hear it.” Carver says.

He sees his brother appear on the balcony overlooking the front room. “Carver, go home.” He doesn’t even sound angry, just tired. So, so tired. It only makes Carver madder.

“But-“ he fumbles for good reasons until Garrett is dragging him outside. He finally finds the words in fresh air. “How can he come here with your money? How can you stand it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Garrett says. “He’s got what - six silver left? I can earn that back in as many minutes, but not if you get the whole family thrown out fighting in the front room.”

“I- you can’t keep-“

“Go home.” Garrett says, and there’s no room for argument in his tone. “And don’t you dare tell mother.”

He’s a bit abashed that Garrett thinks he would, and he’s left stunned when Garrett goes back inside. He walks straight over to Athenril. Best to wrap this up quick before Garrett spots him out a window and chastises him again. “Do you have anything?” He asks.

“Just you?” She asks, and he feels his face heat up slightly. “Not today, I don’t.”

“Nothing?”

“You could always try your hand in the pit.” She says. “Doesn’t look like you have anything to bet, though.”

He leaves without thanking her. Ah, yes, the pit. Some assholes set up a cage on a dry patch in the sewer where the desperate and angry can put up whatever they have left and fight for it and whatever the other poor sod bet. Well, Carver finds that he is both desperate and incredibly, unfathomably angry.

He goes home, but he won’t stay there. There must be something here to bet. Of course, there is no shortage of books. They’ve always been a family of readers, Bethany especially. Sometimes he thinks that’s why mother keeps buying books. No one has time to read anymore but the dead. Speaking of Bethany - his eyes light on her staff. It’s really the only thing of value they have left….but Garrett would never forgive him if he lost that. They took it off her dead body. It’s the only thing besides the amulet that survived the journey, and he doesn’t know where Garrett hid that.

Hesitantly, he picks up the staff. There might even be blood still left on it. Sure, Garrett had meticulously cleaned it while mother bawled her eyes out on the ship over, but blood tends to stick and stain on wood. Looking it at makes him with they had father’s too, but there wasn’t time to get that. He wonders if it survived the destruction of Lothering, if some slimy merchant is trying to sell it to adventurers. Maybe it’ll end up with someone worthwhile, he has to hope for that.

He has no choice but to do this, he thinks to himself. It’ll make him that much more determined not to lose.

———

He is thankful that mother is already asleep when he finally drags himself back home. Gamlen decided, smartly, not to return for the night. Garrett returns a few hours later to find Carver still spitting blood and half passed out on one of their only chairs.

“Maker, what have you done?” He hisses, grabbing Carver’s face to look it over. The younger brother whimpers because everything, every part of his body hurts.

“Don’t be angry what I bet….” he slurs. “‘Cause I didn’t lose it…”

“What?”

“The staff-“ he coughs and then groans. “You’re right- we are going to end up like mum and uncle. I’m so sorry…”

“Carver, I don’t care.” Garrett says. Carver fishes into his pocket for the measly seventeen silvers he has to show for this mess. “Oh...brother.”

He doesn’t often need healing, and he supposes it’s because Garrett is usually there to make sure he doesn’t get hurt in the first place. Most people describe it as a pleasant feeling, but Carver has never liked it. It means something went wrong. “I’ll find something else to bet next time. Something that’s not important.”

“No, you won’t.” Garrett says. “You’re not going back down there. You might not come back next time.”

“So?” Carver asks. “You and mum already lost the one that mattered.”

“Don’t say things like that.” Garrett says, a sharpness in his voice that Carver doesn’t hear often. “I can’t lose you too.”

“That’s what you both say. You can’t lose me “too”.” Carver says. “If Bethany was here instead of me, no one would be sad. That’s how it _should_ have been. This way is just wrong. What’s the point of me being here instead of her?”

“Carver, if Bethany was here instead of you, I’d be drowning in all the things we’ve left unsaid.” Garrett says. “It shouldn’t be either way. I should have both of you - but I don’t. I have my brother, instead of my sister who never once thought she was unloved and unwelcome in her family.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have no reason to be.” Garrett says. “You’re not an extension of anyone. You’re Carver Hawke, the one who went into the sewer to get his ass kicked for seventeen silvers because he hoped he might stop his brother working in a brothel.”

“It sounds sad when you put it that way.”


	4. Bait and Switch and Carver’s Sad Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Like 80% of me writing about Garrett is actually just me writing about Carver

“And I find myself in the company of yet another mage.” Fenris says with a sharp edge to his tone. “I saw you casting spells in there. So? What is it that you want, mage?”

Carver doesn’t understand how Garrett can take such backtalk with a straight face. He does it all the time, has done for all of his life. Even before...he lost hope in himself. “Survival.” Garrett says. “I just want to take care of my family.”

“A great many terrible things were done in the name of survival.” Fenris says.

Garrett nods, so Carver steps up to defend him. His older brother clearly isn’t going to do it himself. “If you’ve a problem with my brother, you’ve got a problem with me.”

Carver instantly regrets making this statement, as he does with any attempt to be nice to his brother. Garrett always has to make such a big deal out of it. Garrett gasps audibly. “Carver! You do care.” He has the same shit-eating grin he always has when he’s about to give that great bear hug. The one that only Carver gets and only Carver doesn’t want at all.

“No- no, there’s no need-“ it doesn’t matter, he has barely protested before his feet are off the ground and he’s being half spun around in his brother’s arms. Maker be praised, at least he keeps it brief in front of company. “You’re welcome.” He grumbles when he’s released.

Fenris and Varric both seem quite taken aback at the sudden change in Garrett’s demeanor. Varric, especially. They’ve known Varric a while now, and Carver is sure that Varric though he knew Garrett inside and out, backwards and forwards by now. He’s just the type to think that. Carver is pretty sure this is the first time Varric has seen Garrett smile. _Really_ smile, not just one of those half-cocked, sarcastic smiles when he’s annoyed or vaguely amused.

Fenris decides to move past this event as if it didn’t happen, and everyone seems content to ignore it completely. Honestly, Carver is glad. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful - I am.” Fenris says. “I could not have done this without you. If you ever have need of a warrior, I will remain here. Danarius May return.”

“If he’s just after you on principle now, do you think he could be paid off?” Garrett asks, as if he has any coin to spare that could possibly contend with what the magister has.

Of course, that’s just how Garrett is. People often tell Carver that he is thoughtlessly selfish, and doesn’t consider the feelings of others before he speaks or acts. Carver wants to tell them that this is because, while his twin sister took a normal amount of selflessness, his older brother took the lion’s share. Garrett would give up everything he had to help anyone - his organs, even, if he thought they’d help in some way. Where in what was left of the gene pool was Carver supposed to find any empathy?

“No, I don’t believe so.” Fenris says, but he seems to appreciate the gesture.

———

They leave Fenris there and travel back to the Hanged Man. Varric is uncharacteristically quiet. “Are you busy rewriting your material?” Carver asks. “About the stoic older brother who doesn’t know how to smile or joke or annoy his little brother? I told you that you had it wrong.”

“You should’ve made a bet.” Varric says.

“Were you two gossiping behind my back?” Garrett asks. He is back to his usual steely self.

“What else are we going to talk about?” Carver asks. “I don’t have any exploits.”

“Maybe if you spent less time talking about how great I am, you would do.” Garrett says. “You’ve still got your standard issues from Ostagar, don’t you? Go parade those around. Not even the Wardens lived through that.”

Carver stays silent, sulking, and he hopes that Garrett doesn’t realize he didn’t think of that. Varric’s grim says that he absolutely realizes.


	5. Blood Magic

“It's too easy for a Mage to turn to blood magic. Survival, revenge, any reason will do, and then they are lost.” Fenris says, looking up at the statues of slaves again.

Garrett’s gaze follows his, but he doesn't meet Fenris’ eyes when the elf looks back at him. “Those who lose their way should be punished.”

Carver has the oddest look on his face when Garrett faces his companions again, but he doesn't speak. “If you believe what you've said about mages, why haven't you turned yourself in?” Fenris asks.

Garrett’s jaw clenches. He's thought about it, in detail. Carver answers for him. “Bethany and I needed him, then just mother and I.” He balks for a moment when he realizes he sounds like he admires his brother, and follows it up with something less flattering, “He's always been one for self-sacrifice and self-flagellation.”

“Thanks.” Garrett says sarcastically.

“It's true.”

Fenris sighs, “I'm sure we’re here for a reason?”

\---

There's not a lot of room to talk in private at home, but Carver finds a spare moment after their mother and Gamlen have both drifted off to sleep. Garrett has been late to bed and early to rise his whole life, so he's easy to corner in the middle of the night.

“You're particularly broody this evening.” Carver says, pulling a chair out from their dinner table to sit across from his brother. “I think Fenris is rubbing off on you.”

Garrett glances at him but doesn't speak. Carver continues. “Why'd you say that, earlier? About all who use blood magic needing to be punished?”

Carver has never been one to come swiftly to Garrett’s side on this, but he does sometimes understand the reasoning behind what Garrett did those long five years ago. That, and he's sweet on Merrill. “Because it's true.” Garrett says.

“But you-”

“I was punished, and I deserved it.” Garrett says, interrupting his brother. “Five years of nightly torment, and then Bethany died anyway. That's on me.”

Carver sighs. “Mother didn't mean it when she said that you should've stopped Bethany from protecting her- neither did I.” He says. “You're not responsible for her death, you know that?”

Garrett stares through him. He does know that, logically, but some part of him keeps nagging that he did cause his sister’s death. “If we’d both gone to the circle, you and mother could've fled anywhere. You could've made whatever life you want for yourself.” He says, and he finally meets Carver’s eyes. “It hurts when you say that I'm standing in the way of your life, but it is true. You tell the cruelest bloody truths by complete accident. You always have.”

“Garrett.” Carver says, but he can't seem to think of a decent reply, and he doesn't really fancy putting his foot in his mouth. “Mother and I still need you.” He settles for that, since it's true and it will keep his brother out of these dark hallways of his mind.

“I know.” Garrett sighs heavily.

“It'll be better when we get back from the expedition. Easier.” Carver says, and he sounds so matter of fact about it, like he's become completely sure in a matter of seconds. “You’ll have a title to hide behind and...then I won't get to use you as an excuse for why I'm a nobody.”


	6. Weakness

It has been a _long_ day made even longer by all of his friends' condolences-the free drinks weren't that bad, though. As if Carver is dead. He is _not_ , nor is he _going_ to die. Garret can feel that in his bones. Carver is far too stubborn to let the Blight sickness get the best of him. But... It isn't as if Garret or their mother are ever going to see him again.

He finds himself at the door of the stolen manor. "You don't care about any of the property in this mansion, right?" Garrett asks.

Fenris shakes his head, snow white hair fluttering a bit, and steps aside to let Garrett in. "Just in the one room. Everything else is as good as trash."

"Mind if I smash some of it?" Garrett's tone is on edge. There is, of course, a chance that Fenris does not want an angry, drunk Mage in his home, which would be perfectly reasonable.

"Help yourself." Is the answer he gets, amusement and sympathy in the elf's rich voice.

"Not even going to ask why?"

"No need. I heard about your brother." Fenris says. "Hawke, I'm-"

"Please, Maker's breath, I've had enough people pity me today." Garrett sighs. "Can't someone tell me that I'm a horrible brother for not protecting him? A horrible son for letting strangers tell my mother instead of delivering the news myself? A coward because I _still_ haven't gone home to face her-it's been _two days_. She has lost _both of them_ to the darkspawn."

"Only the last statement is true, and even it is only partially so." Fenris says. "Do you really believe that this is your fault?"

"Perhaps not Bethany's death, but this? _This_ is entirely my fault. I shouldn't have taken him. Mother _begged_ me not to, but I thought I knew better." Garrett argues. "I can't bear to go home and face what I've done..."

"There is no way you could've known." Fenris insists before a vase smashes against the wall.

Garrett is calm when he speaks, despite his face being set into hard lines, jaw tense. "Really? It's the same as what happened with Bethany less than a year ago. My failure to learn from past mistakes is deadly. My poor decisions have a body count." He stops with another vase in his hand. He is still wary of making his friend uncomfortable.

"I'll leave you to this." Fenris nods as he passed him on the way to the room in the mansion he actually uses.

\---

Fenris returns after the clamor dies down and finds Garrett sitting among a wreckage of splintered wood and other broken things that are unidentifiable. "Feel better?" He asks, standing over the other.

"I'm not angry anymore, I suppose that's a start." Garrett answers. He is a bit out of breath and sounds exhausted. He holds his head in his hands and sighs. "I don't have the luxury of going to bed angry. Filthy things in the fade buzz around the head of any Mage who dares have an emotion... Sorry, you don't want to hear this."

"I can't imagine you letting anything into your head, Hawke." Fenris says. He offers a hand to help the other up.

Garrett brushes himself off once he is standing. "Thank you, that...means a lot to hear." He says. The corners of the elf's mouth twitch into the hint of a smile and Garrett feels his heart skip. "I should...probably be going." He loathes his voice for being uneven.

"If you do not wish to go home, I'm sure there is room here." Fenris says.

"I-" Garrett pauses to keep himself from stuttering. "Thank you, but while you may like empty mansions, I'd prefer to be around more people. Varric will put me up in a room at the Hanged Man. He...shouldn't be alone either."

Fenris nods once. "I understand. Goodnight, Hawke."

\---

Garrett slumps against the door after closing it. The streets are empty and only the moon bears witness to his weakness. Thankfully, she never judges. What had that been? He could've easily leaned down and kissed Fenris. He _could've_ , but why would he? It would be a mistake.

He knows better than to let feelings get the better of him. Affection, desire, anger, so on. They are _all_ weaknesses. He cannot afford to be emotional. It is enough that Fenris' story about his past angered him enough to bring Rage to his dreams. Fenris...affects him deeply. They haven't known each other for long, but Garrett feels oddly connected to him. Being in the elf's company is easy-much easier than it should be.

And now _this_.

Not that Fenris is entirely innocent. He openly flirts with Garrett and now the Mage knows that Fenris _trusts_ him. He did not say it outright, but that was his meaning.

Garrett knows that he cannot allow this-whatever _this_ may be-to continue...but the idea of shutting Fenris out of his life fills him with dread. He cannot just abandon his friend. What if Danarius was to return? Would Fenris be safe in that manor alone? _No_.

"Get a hold of yourself." He hisses through gritted teeth into the night air. If he's lucky, he thinks, perhaps a group of thugs will slaughter him on his way to Lowtown. That would be preferable.


	7. Bitter Aftertaste

"The Chantry isn't a father, whip always in hand, but a mother who knows her children learn best when allowed to figure things out for themselves." The grand cleric says, and Garrett feels the frown on his face grow more vicious.

" _No_." He snarls.

Her eyes widen slightly. "No?" She asks, incredulously.

"You lying bitch, you're just afraid that if you do _anything_ , your power will come into question." He spits. "You are so fucking absorbed in your own selfish gain, your own position, that you would rather see this city burn than choose a side."

"That is a wild and heavy accusation, Hawke." She says, her expression between stern and serene.

Garrett can't stand it-can't stand the way she looks at him, speaking hollow words and excuses, treating him as if he is making baseless accusations. "We'll see who believes you were doing the right thing when this blows up." He says lowly, and stomps out of the Chantry.

The one in Lothering wasn't like this. When the Blight came, they helped. They sheltered people. When the teryns, arls, and banns abandoned the land, the Templars stepped in, the Chantry stepped in. They didn't sit around quietly debating who was right or wrong in the civil war; they didn't sit around debating whether regent Loghain was right about it not being a true Blight. They _acted_.

He sighs as he makes his way to the Hanged Man. The past few weeks have been especially trying. His heart is still split open fresh-not that he blames Fenris. _Maker_ , how could he blame him? After everything. No, no, who he truly blames is an entire country away. There is nothing he can do about it, and he hates that more than he hates the man himself. All this time Fenris has had to sit and wait in Danarius' shadow, waiting for hell to finally come; just when he finally started to believe he was truly free, hell fucking arrived.

Garrett honestly can't stand himself for not being able to be there for Fenris now. He hasn't seen him in weeks. Not since that night. He _can't_. Perhaps someday soon, but not now, no matter what he wants. The wound is still too fresh and he wouldn't do Fenris any good by pining and looking like he hasn't slept in days (he hasn't, and he wouldn't be eating either if Orana didn't look after him).

 _Orana_. Now there is another great point of stress for him. It sickens him how compliant and submissive she is, calling him master (he has been trying to get her into the habit of calling him messare or serah, or _anything else_ ; he'll take insults instead at this point). He wonders every time he looks at her if this is how Fenris was with the fog warriors. He imagines so and it makes his stomach turn.

He really needs to stop seeing Fenris in everything and thinking of nothing but him. He can't make Fenris be ready for something he's not. He can't make Fenris want someone he doesn't. _Nor would he _.__


	8. He Knows

They had all tried to convince him to come back with them, Varric especially, but he’d insisted. He waited for the templars to show up so he could tell them himself. He hadn’t gone to his mother himself when Carver had to be taken by the Grey Wardens, he’d been too afraid, too guilty. He had to do this. He knows that Varric must be worried sick. Garrett has often talked of handing himself over to the templars. Not so much recently, but still. They both know that the templars would take one look at Garrett’s scars and slap a lyrium sunburst on his forehead faster than Varric could talk them out of it. Right now, Garrett thinks tranquility might not be so bad. He feels torn to shreds, worse than when they fought the dragon in the Bone Pit.

He is still holding her corpse- the corpses -when the templars arrive. All devious magic is investigated by them if they hear about it, and he wanted Varric to tell them. Varric trusts him completely, despite his worry for his friend. He knows Garrett would never go through with turning himself in, not when everyone still needs him. Merrill, with her mirror; Bela, with her dark secret and trackers; Fenris, with Danarius; Varric, with Bartrand; Anders...with himself. Aveline is really the only one who doesn’t need him for something or another.

They search and clear the place out. Knight Captain Cullen Sourface lingers after they’ve all gone. Garrett stares at him with blank, exhausted eyes until he speaks. “You did a good job here, Hawke.” He says, but his heart isn’t in it. Garrett doesn’t flinch from the accusing eyes of the templar before him. “Strange, the bolts and cuts didn’t hit anything vital. He was covered in them, but that’s not what killed him.”

Bela had taken his staff with her when she left. A mage is never unarmed, but it is good he doesn’t have it now. “Strange, indeed.” He agrees.

Cullen crosses his arms. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that man died from a magical attack.”

Their gazes are locked in the challenge. Garrett doesn’t back down. “Maybe he took the final blow from himself to rob me of the satisfaction.” He says. “Or maybe being rained down by bolts, daggers, and swords stopped his heart.”

“We may never know.” Cullen says, and there is more in the statement than the words.

Garrett knows. The necromancer died from the psychic damage of an entropy spell. He died of fear. Garrett mimics the templar’s gesture and crosses his own arms. “Truly.”

Cullen’s eyes narrow, but he backs down. He has no proof, only suspicion. If it were anyone else other than Hawke, he could get away with slitting his throat now. Garrett knows that his high-priced nobility has finally come in handy for once. He wonders what will happen come summer, when his arms are bare and Cullen can see the scars, see them now that he knows. And he does know.

\---

Garrett drinks when he gets to the Hanged Man. He doesn’t speak to anyone. Not even Varric and Bela, not even when they try their best to get any word at all out of him. Eventually, only those two remain. Varric, concerned at his side, and Bela, asleep with her head on their table. Garrett takes another swig of his ale, watching the room wobble.

“Hawke, I have to cut you off after this mug.” Varric says. “You’re emptying my pockets.” He makes it a joke, he has to, because he’s worried.

“Cullen knows.” Garrett says. His words are slurred and quiet, but Varric hears.

“Knows what?” He asks, even though he knows the answer.

“I could’ve let you bolt through his neck, or let Bela slit it, Fenris would have eagerly ripped the man’s heart out or run him through with a sword. But I wanted to do it. I had to. I wanted him to die in terror.” Garrett says. “And he knows it.”

Varric is silent until Garrett finishes his drink and turns to stare at the dwarf. “I’ll take care of it.” He says. “I’ve got your back, Hawke, always.”

“I’m here because he owed me one.” Garrett says. “I saved his life once, and now his debt is paid. He won’t be so lenient a second time.”

“I’ll think of something.” Varric assures him.

“If he tells Meredith, all the gold in the world won’t save me.” Garrett says, his voice eerily calm. “It won’t save me. It won’t save Anders. It won’t save Merrill.”

“Hawke…”

“I will lose my whole family, and it will be my own doing. I’ve never been anything but trouble.” He holds up a hand when Varric tries to protest this. “I only await Carver’s answering letter. He’ll tell the truth, always has. No matter how much it hurts.”

“Carver is an asshole.” Varric says, and Garrett laughs. “If Anders’ stories are anything to go by, he’s making a great Warden.”

“He’s alright. Finally doing something out of my shadow.” He says. “I miss him. I miss his chubby cheeks and his insufferable attitude. Father died when I was fifteen. The twins were nine, Bethany was just barely a mage. Mother was so lost in grief… I raised them, Varric. Bethany needed someone to teach her to control her magic and I...I didn’t pay enough attention to him. I tried, I tried my damndest, but there was never enough time in the day.”

“You were just a kid, too.” Varric says. “You did your best, I know you did. I know everything you did for him, Hawke.”

Garrett smiles sadly. “I know.” He says. “How could I forget when you saved me from it?”

Varric laughs. “I’m just the idea man. You drug yourself out of the gutter.”


	9. Garrett "Fight Me" Hawke

"There's something about Hawke I never got to tell anyone." Varric says, chuckling into his ale. "Mainly because he keeps threatening me, but I think maybe he's too drunk to maim me right now." He glances over at the blond, who is laying his head on the table and groaning occasionally.

"Ffffucking-" Garrett hiccups and grimaces. "Fight m-me"

"It's about the times when you fought with swords." Varric says and Garrett sighs.

"S'not flatterin'. Me losin' c-" he hiccups again. "Losing control."

"I wanna hear." The inquisitor says.

"Fuck y-" Garrett stops, but sighs and waves his hand at Varric. "Fine."

"Alright." Varric chuckles again. "It happened a few times over the years, but the funniest time was when the Qunari occupied Kirkwall."

"Was there anything funny about that?" The inquisitor asks.

"Just this part. In the middle of battle with a group of soldiers, he throws his staff down and picks up one of _their_ swords and starts hitting them with it." Varric continues. "The look on their faces- he was their worst nightmare. A Mage occupying a different role right before their eyes, _flawlessly_. Hawke is pretty damn good with a sword."

"You bet your ass I am." Garrett slurs. "Still not-not my finest moments."

"Depends on where you're standing. It looked pretty amazing to the rest of us."

"Mmm I'm glad y'don't think 'm a mess."

"Well, not _then_ , at least. _Now_? Yeah, you're a mess. And a lightweight, by the way."

"I'd table you under the drink any damn day!" Garrett sits up and sways. "Wait."

"No one's perfect, not even you."


	10. Warden Contact Carver Hawke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See this is why Bethany or Carver couldn't be the warden contact. Hawke would never in a million bajillion years allow the inquisitor to leave their baby sibling in the fade. They already had to leave one behind.

“Well, I'm leaving.” The hero of Ferelden says as he adjusts his saddle bags.

“Good luck in your quest, Cousland.” Another warden says, only half paying attention. “Maker grant you swift return to us.”

Puck looks at Carver, grinning, and shakes his head. Puck Cousland’s disdain for Weishaupt isn't necessarily unknown. Still, Carver follows and stops him out of earshot of the other wardens. “Why were you shaking your head at me?”

“Because I'm not coming back. Fuck this place. Fuck them.” He says. “They sit up here in this palace and strategize, plan out the next blight.”

“Should they...not be?” Carver asks.

Puck scoffs. “As if they know anything. The fourth blight was ages ago, and none of them were fucking in Ferelden during the fifth.” He says. “Don't let them fool you, they abandoned us.”

“I don't understand. Isn't it their job to fight blights? Why would they not go-”

“Because they're a bunch of lazy pieces of shit who want to exempt themselves from having to deal with public opinion or structure or..anything else that bloody matters.” He says. “Can't get involved in politics my left arsecheek. What the fuck do they think treaties are?”

“I knew you didn't like it here, but you really hate them.” Carver’s brows raise.

“You're from Lothering aren't you?” Puck asks, and Carver nods. “Then you should hate them more than I do. They fucked you. They royally, personally fucked you. The others and I were newly joined, Alistair had six months behind him. We called for help and they claimed there was no way to get there in time.”

“It takes time to send an army…” Carver tries. He doesn't know what to think about all this.

“It takes time to build one too. How long? A year. A full bloody fucking year, and we got no reinforcements from the wardens. You know the only other warden I found? Locked in a dungeon in Denerim.” Puck says. “So, I say again: fuck ‘em.”

Carver doesn't speak, stuck in shock. Puck gives him a sympathetic look. “Hey, kid. I’m out for a cure for this. You're welcome to come with me. You're better than these fuck nuggets.”

He doesn't go. He spends the next week of sleepless nights thinking that he probably should have. Before he left Kirkwall, he had heard Anders talk about the hero of Ferelden before. Of course, he hadn't known Anders’ warden friend was Puck Cousland at the time, and he hadn't really listened to Anders much...but he knew now. Puck confirmed the fact. He had briefly visited Kirkwall, visited Anders specifically. Puck had free run of whatever he wanted to do, being the hero of Ferelden. The other wardens might disapprove of his actions, but none of them ever actually said anything to him. Or his sister. Or brother. Or any of the rest of the heroes of the fifth blight. How could they? Especially when Puck was so open about how they'd been left in the lurch by these very wardens.

That statement haunted Carver day and night. If he believed Puck, and he had no reason not to, then yes…the wardens of Weishaupt were partially to blame for everything bad that happened as a result of the displacement of the Hawkes. Not that it was all bad. They'd found Varric (annoying as Carver finds him-hates the nickname) who Garrett desperately needed. His brother has had so few good friends. He was always busy caring for the twins, teaching Bethany magic. Even after they got to Kirkwall, he wore himself past exhaustion making sure they were all fed. It wasn't as if Gamlen was much help.

Stroud notices his growing resentment for the wardens, and he likely knows who is to blame for its blooming. Carver could never have guessed how much the situation would escalate.

\---

He hears their voices before he sees them. His guard goes up immediately, but Stroud doesn't seem unnerved so he relaxes. And then he recognizes one of the intruders. Garrett. “You didn't tell me it was him you were working with!” He shouts, “You could've at least-”

The talking further out of the cave ceases suddenly. Stroud is apparently terrible at sharing information. If he's as bad at being a rat on the wardens as he is at this, he can't be very useful to the inquisition.

Carver really, truly thought he would probably never see Garrett again. Maybe when his time came, just before he went into the deep roads, he would go and say goodbye to his brother. He owed him that much. Being with the wardens has given him far too much time to think. Especially about his unfair blame on Garrett for Bethany’s death. And for their mother’s death. “I'm sorry” gets stuck in his throat and he stands gaping instead.

Garrett hugs him, of course. And tries to lift him, of course. “You've gotten heavier.” He says when he can barely manage. Carver isn't helping by being a stiff deadweight in protest. Always the bear hugs. He hates the bear hugs. Maybe not quite as much right now as usual, but still.

“Well, you don't go around fighting darkspawn and eating enough for a small army and get smaller, do you?” He asks, and Garrett grins. He can't help a small returning smile. He and his brother never really got along, but damn it if he didn't miss the old fool.

“Obviously.” Garrett says.

\---

It isn't fair. Maker, it isn't fair. He stands at the place where the rift was just closed, his jaw and fists clenched. His teeth grinding, knuckles tight and sore, anything to keep tears at bay. The rest of the wardens and the inquisitor are here. He can't cry in front of them.

“Where’s Hawke?” He hears Varric ask, and then again, with less hope. Things are settling down, the wardens gathering now that they're free of Corypheus’ influence. If they were ever really under it. He wonders what Puck would say to this, if he were here. Something about them being assholes again, probably. He would be right. The resentment he's been brooding about the fifth blight being undermanned bubbles up and mixes with the rage he feels for them now for causing this day, this rift, this death.

He looks up, barely seeing past red. Varric is gone who knows where. The inquisitor’s seeker friend, Cassandra, is also gone. All who remain are the bald elf with too many cocky opinions who was too damn happy to be in the fade and the inquisitor himself. Clarel died in the beginning of this shitshow. Good, he thinks, echoing Puck Cousland, fuck ‘em. There is a second in command, and he sees him in the crowd.

“You.” He growls. His anger is directed specifically but also generally, as he looks out over all of them. “You did this!”

His muscles lock up when he is mid-swing, paralyzed by a spell from the inquisitor. “Don't. We need them.” He says.

Carver lowers his weapon when he's released, but not his voice. “You abandoned the wardens of Ferelden, left them to die in the fifth blight. You want me to believe you give a damn about the blight, I don't believe you. You would've given the hero more resources to seek a cure if you did. You're all just a bunch of tainted fucking idiots, blindly following anything that calls to you in dreams and says it can be over. That's what demons do you fucking assholes. I would know my brother and sister were mages. You don't care about anything but yourselves and you have killed my whole family!”

The dam breaks then. The overwhelming realization that he really is the last one now finally catches him. He storms away from them. Tears are pouring down his cheeks but he is utterly silent, his anger too great to satisfy anyone with sobs.

Gamlen Amell is still alive, sure, but...there are no more Hawkes.


	11. Here Lies the Abyss

If Garrett was in a funnier mood, he might say that this is payback for all the spiders he killed outside of Kirkwall, but he isn’t in any kind of funny mood. All through the years of traveling and being a fugitive apostate with Anders, he held out hope that one day he would see Fenris again. He’d see them all again. Aveline would scold him while Merrill wept and hugged him. Bela would understand. He’d throw himself Fenris’ feet and beg for forgiveness, apologize for not giving a proper goodbye. Then he would never leave again.

All of those dreams are ashes now, in the face of this demon. The biggest spider of them all. Garrett supposes that his truer fears are harder to embody than his common ones. Varric always suspected that he was afraid of spiders. He has proof now.

Garrett doesn’t feel any sense of urgency, and he supposes that the demon doesn’t either. The fight petered out after the rift closed. They both understand that there is no hurry, because they both know neither can leave. Garrett is glad for the chance to rest. What he’s about to do...he’ll need all his strength.

He swore he would never do it again. Mother always told him never to say never. He doesn’t see reason not to now, since he is certain that death will follow. He will gain nothing from it. His swan song, blood magic.

Sometimes the knife catches in its sheath, but not today, almost like it knows. The nightmare realizes that something is happening when Garrett stakes his staff into the ground. He slits one wrist, then the other. He feels purpose, and energy. So, so much energy. He can almost feel wind whipping around him. The flow of blood doesn’t reach the ground before rising and orbiting the head of his staff. It waits, gathering, ready to be used. He lets it accumulate as he downs the ten lyrium potions from his belt. When the final vial shatters beneath him, he feels like there is more lyrium in his veins blood.

Time moves so slowly that it almost doesn’t pass for him. His very being is thrumming with energy, right to his core; the singing isn’t coming from just the fade anymore, it’s coming from him. He brings his hands up, bracketing the swell of blood around his staff, and the energy joins it. Where the blood moved sluggishly, keeping pace with real time, the magic knows no such constraint. It whirls and stutters, moving faster and faster as more of it comes from him. As he gathers it, he gives it purpose. He gives it his certainty that this beast dies today.

The first sparks are soft, sweet crackles light. They are the kind people use on lovers, they are the kind that he used on Fenris when the elf’s curiosity got the better of him. His lover had liked it more than either of them expected, but he can’t afford this memory right now. He forces it away and focuses. The sparks grow stronger as he feeds them, turning into great, demanding bolts that arc out and boomerang back into the fold. Overhead, the sky rumbles with the preclusion of rain that it cannot make. At this sound, Garrett knows that this storm, that all storms, belong to him. Not always before, and not forever after, but here and now.

If the demon moves, he can’t see it. His storm hungers for more, And he must feed it. It lashes out and scores his arms with thousands of tendrils. He can feel that his eyes are open, but he can’t see. A light burns brightly within him, emanating from his eyes and blinding him.

He has felt something like this before, only once, when he fought the Arishok, but that was three less potions and a lot less blood. He feels the power of ages coursing through him, and for a moment, he feels guilt. This power is too great for one man to wield, but he keeps dipping his toes into it. He pushes the guilt aside and dives in. He is only a conduit. If whatever higher power exists doesn’t want this, it will kill him and spare the demon. He doesn’t think that gods want anything, only that they don’t want things.

When the swell reaches the apex Garrett couldn’t fathom when he started, It was force magic last time and he felt torn and broken then. This is different entirely. White heat scorches his insides as it rips through him; he hears more than sees himself fall to the ground, and when he does see, it is through a smoke-laden haze.

He slips out of consciousness for an unmarked amount of time, and wakes to a familiar form. He is here, in her domain now, his every breath a burning agony. She stares at him, even without eyes or any face at all, until he falls dark again. When he comes to a second time, she still there.

She speaks this time, “They will come for you.” She says. “Do you want to be alive when they do?”

She does not have to say it outright, he knows what she is really asking. He can only wheeze in response. She continues, “You will not live without my help. You know this. If you want my help, you must allow it.”

Again, he cannot answer.

“I can also bring an end to your misery.” She says. “It may take hours, or even days, for life to fully leave you. I will need your permission for this as well.”

He manages a weak yes, and swears that he sees smoke leave his mouth with the word. Faith seems to ponder a moment. He wonders what it will feel like, being possessed. In the end, it feels like nothing. Perhaps his nerves are fried, or perhaps she is so gentle. Now that she is within him, he knows that she can feel his true desires, his dreams, everything. As much as he expected to die, and as much as he doesn’t want to deal with the consequences of what he has done here, his broken promises…his will to live is strong.

“You can sleep now.” She says. “I will wait for them while you rest.”


	12. Wicked Wicked Grace

It’s amazing how Garrett can renter all their lives without much fuss. Only seconds before, Carver cried on his shoulder. It is the first time he has seen his brother since Garrett was brought out of the fade half dead. Now, here they all sit, playing Wicked Grace like nothing ever happened. It’s just like it was before Carver left Kirkwall. They all look a bit older, a bit more world-weary, but other than that, the lack of Aveline, and Garrett’s new lightning scars, everything is as it was.

“So, strip?” Bela suggests again, as she did when Carver first joined the game.

“My brother is here!” Carver says. “Don’t be weird.”

“You’ve never seen him naked before?” She asks, then shrugs. “Your loss.”

“You’re vile.” He says.

“Just down to our smalls then?” She tries. “Instead of fully nude. Can’t imagine why you’re so shy, though. Things like that run in families.”

Carver blushes bright red. He’s better than this, he’s a warden now, not a teenage boy. She shouldn’t still be able to do this to him. “Fine.” He grumbles. “If you’re not going to shut up about it.”

“Alright. Last one out loses a piece.” She say, and Varric laughs. He’s never the last one out.

“Oh, you know this isn’t going to be fair.” Merrill says. “You’ve already told us all that you cheat!”

“I’ll be fair with you, kitten.” She says.

“No she won’t.” He hears Garrett whisper to him.

“Can a man’s face get redder?” Anders asks, looking at Carver with a very annoying grin. “You’re not about to pass out, are you?”

“One more comment and I’m leaving.” Carver says. “Stuff it, all of you. A bunch of bloody perverts is what you are.”

–––

Every game of strip cards Carver has ever played with Bela ends up the same way it has now: with him, Fenris, and Merrill all completely in their skivvies. The first few rounds are all about revealing Varric’s chest hair, and it takes more than one because he cheats almost as well as Bela does. After that, it’s open season on one of her three choice prizes. He still thinks Anders loses on purpose.

“You’re a cruel woman.” Carver says to her. He looks at his cards and back at her. “You’re just toying with me. Have you even lost anything yet?”

“Does she ever?” Garrett asks. He seems to have been spared this game, though he has been folding a lot so that he wouldn’t be last out.

“We should really get together with the inquisition and play.” Varric says. “I think Ruffles could give you a run for your money, and well, commander Curly is worse than Junior.”

“Is that possible?” Bela asks. “I don’t even have to cheat with him.”

Carver lays his head on the table and groans. “I hate you. All of you.”

“It’s not my fault you’re terrible.” Bela says, and when he dares to look up, she has the most wicked grin on her face. Of course she does. She always does. “Didn’t Puck teach you anything?”

“We didn’t play cards at Weishaupt.”

“Oh, of course not.” Anders says. “Wardens anti-anything fun.”

“You know hate to disagree with you.” Carver says. “You’re not wrong, though. It was mind-numbing. They weren’t like that at Ostagar, from what I remember. That traitor Loghain must’ve killed all the fun ones.”

“Not all.” Anders says.

“I hope you don’t mean yourself.” Carver says. “As I remember, you didn’t have any other topics of conversation besides ‘I’m a mage, bite me’ and ‘templars are assholes’.”

“Both are still true.” Anders says.

“The hero talked about you though.” Carver says. “I didn’t even know who he meant at first, I thought he knew two people named Anders.”

“Aw, did he?”

Carver sighs. “Well that and how much he hated Weishaupt- which he did, a lot. And the Grey Wardens there too. Can’t say I really fancy them much now, either.”

“Well here’s a new topic for you, from me: Grey Wardens are stuffy, boring assholes. Most of them, at least.” Anders says.

“I don’t like agreeing with you. Stop it.”


	13. The Battlements See A Lot of Action

For almost a half hour, Carver has been wandering up and down this corridor. It’s a wonder no one has come out and spotted him yet, but he is very glad they haven’t. It’s typical for the whole crew to hang out in Varric’s room or Hawke’s room (Varric’s tonight), but they don’t all sleep there. Finally, overtaken by courage or madness, or a bit of both, he knocks on the door.

“Please don’t be Bela.” He whispers, clasping his hands together and giving the ceiling a pleading glance. “Please, please don’t be Bela.”

“Hello- oh, Carver.” It’s Merrill, which is almost worse somehow, even though it’s her he has come here to see. “Are you joining us?” She steps to the side to let him in but he stays in the doorway.

“Uh- no, I was wondering…” he clears his throat and tries again when he feels his voice about to crack. “I was wondering if you might join me for um, for a walk on the battlements.”

“Oh.”

“I know it’s a bit late, but I-“

“No, that sounds lovely.” She says, a grin lighting up her face. “Let me just get my coat.”

–––

He really can’t wait to hear about this from the rest of them. Can’t actually fucking wait. He’ll never hear the end of it, he’s sure. Especially from Bela. He and Merrill walk in silence for a while, and they’re about halfway across when she stops and stares at the sky.

“The stars are beautiful up here in the mountains.” She says.

He looks up and tries to see what she seems to see, what so many people seem to see. Sure, stars are pretty, but… he looks back at her, and he’s thankful for the dark because he can feel his face reddening. There has always been something so unfathomably deep to Merrill’s eyes. “I’ve never paid much mind to the stars.” He admits. “There’s so many, I just..can’t really make sense of it.”

“You don’t have to understand something to find it beautiful.” She says.

 _Isn’t that the truth_ , he wants to say. “I do think it’s lovely.” He says. “Just don’t get it, is all.”

“I remember staring on the ship over to the Free Marches.” She says. “There wasn’t anything else to look at, really. It seemed like there were more stars then, because it was so dark.”

“Is that how it works?” He asks. “We didn’t see much of the sky on our trip, we spent most of it in the hold.”

“A lot of the elves from my clan refused to stay in the hold.” She says. “They said it made them feel like slaves going to market. I just...I didn’t want anyone to find the shard from the mirror.”

He nods, because he doesn’t know what to say and doesn’t want to risk putting his foot in his mouth as he so often does. As he stares at her staring at the sky, he doesn’t think he needs words. He doesn’t think she does either. He has never really felt companionable silence before. After his father died, there was always an urgency to fill the void when conversation died out. Maybe that’s where he got his inability to not speak even when it’s best to shut up. Anything was better than watching their mother wilt in the quiet.

“Oh my, it’s getting late.” Merrill says suddenly. “Don’t you have an excursion with the Wardens tomorrow?”

“Yeah, but it’s fine...none of us really sleep much.” He says.

“Do you have nightmares?” She asks.

“Something like that.” He says. He isn’t ready to tell anyone about his tainted dreams yet. It was all the Wardens of Weishaupt talked about, but he never saw the appeal.

“Mahariel had dreams after the incident with the mirror.” She says. “There wasn’t much time to talk about them before she left, though. I’ve always wondered.”

“Maybe we can talk about it someday.” He says.

“I’d like that.” She says, and she pulls her gaze down from the sky to find him staring at her. He clears his throat and quickly looks away.

“It is...getting rather late, isn’t it?” He says. “I really shouldn’t have kept you out like this, I’m sorry.” He says.

“It’s alright.” She says. “The night sky and a brisk wind is good for you sometimes. Though not too much, you wouldn’t want to catch a cold.”

He nods again, and she smiles as she turns to leave. “Wait.” He says, and grabs her hand. They both stare at their interlocked hands for a moment, but Merrill must be the first to look up for some sort of explanation, because she is staring at him when he finally dares to glance up. “Uh, I…”

“Yes?”

He leans his face in close to hers, but he finds himself stuck in place. He feels like he might be violating some sort of trust, and that’s the last thing he wants to do. He does it so damn often though, upsetting people. It’s difficult to know when he is and isn’t. “I- is this..alright?” He asks, when he finally finds any words at all.

“Yes.” She says again, but this time it definitely isn’t a question.

It’s a short kiss, when their lips finally meet. He isn’t really sure who broke the distance between them, whether he worked up the nerve or she got tired of waiting. He thought there was brittle glass between them, one wrong move could shatter it all, but he doesn’t feel that now.

She is grinning when he pulls away. “Goodnight, Carver.”

“Goodnight.”


	14. Listen to Mother

“Warden Hawke.” The Inquisitor says when Carver is let into his chambers. He can’t get used to being called that. “You found something in the ruins?”

“Yes.” Carver says, and he lays the book of ancient elven history on the inquisitor’s desk. “I know we’re supposed to leave all new findings with you, but…”

“What?” The elf asks, taking the book and looking it over. He thumbs through carefully while Carver gathers his thoughts. When he tries to be mindful of what he wants to say, he often ends up staggered and saying nothing for too long. It’s like he just can’t win.

“It doesn’t matter.” He settles, finally. “Orders are orders.”

“No, please.” The inquisitor says. “Speak up. Does someone else need this?”

“Well, not need… Merrill likes this sort of thing, and I- it’s stupid. Obviously the inquisition takes precedent, I shouldn’t even be asking-“

The inquisitor sits back in his chair with the book in hand. He stares at it for a moment before setting it down and sliding it towards Carver. “Give it to her.”

“What?” Carver balks. “Really?”

“Anything to keep her away from Solas.”

Carver cocks his head to the side. What an odd thing to say. “Is that because your sister’s interested in him?”

The inquisitor smiles a very pained looking smile and sighs. “That’s nothing you need to worry about.” He says. “I hope Merrill enjoys the book.”

———

Aurin never thought a day would come when he’d choose a complete stranger’s safety over his own sister’s, but it has. He knows that Ilo is in too deep already. He should’ve put a stop to her flirting with Solas from the beginning- they both _knew_ , so he can’t fathom why she carried on…

Merrill, on the other hand, is innocent...at least so far as this matter is concerned. The wolf pack has never been innocent. They were branded early on, marked by his father’s beliefs.

Right now he can hear his mother, plain as day, as if he’s back North of the Marches, telling her goodbye. Just before they left for the conclave, she pulled him aside. His mother seldom spoke to him for his whole life, she barely held him as a child, she certainly didn’t approve of the way he lives and what he believes. She told him, practically begging, “Don’t let her find anyone on this trip. No one, you hear? She’ll find a good match here when you all get home, I’ll make sure of it. But do _not_ let her try and bond out there.”

He had thought she meant city elves, or humans. She didn’t. He knows now that she didn’t. She got so mad that time Ilo brought home an abandoned wolf pup. She snatched it from her daughter’s arms and broke its neck. Aurin can hardly do that in this situation, though sometimes he wishes he could. It might save them all some trouble.

“There’s so much I wanted to ask, so much I don’t know.” He asks the open air. “I should’ve asked while you were here.” He means his father, the seer, the one who believed in a misunderstood Dread Wolf. There must be more to it though, if mother knew what was to come of Ilo. She isn’t a seer, so it must’ve come from father. Why had he told her and not his children? Ilo was old enough to know her future when father was murdered.

“Cousin.” Risa says as she opens the door without knocking. “Cassandra was looking for you- are you alright?” She asks when she sees tears in his eyes.

“Yes.” He lies. “Just a stressful day, is all.” Risa is the only innocent one in the pack. She never belonged, and he doesn’t know why. She’s _family_ , so why wouldn’t she? In the end, it’s just another question he wishes his father could be here to answer.


End file.
